somehow he was unable to resist that slow slide.
There had to be something he could do. Something he could
try.
If only he did not have the option of the damn incantation,
that tiny little spell that could force her into his arms. The gods knew he
didn’t have the strength to resist the temptation. But if she could, if she could walk away, if she could remain distant. Maybe that would make life
bearable when she finally left.
How he could manage that, he had no clue.
But Duvalli would know.
Keeshan stilled at the thought. The Dark Djinn could remove the
temptation. Duvalli could release her from the power of the incantation. A
flicker of hope kindled in his heart and then died.
Duvalli could. But would he?
“Are you hungry?” he asked and was relieved when her
expression shifted.
She put a hand on her belly. “I am.”
Yes, he was relieved when she allowed him to distract her,
to lead her back to the banquet hall and tempt her with a dizzying array of
delights.
He was especially relieved when she forgot all her questions
and allowed him to kiss her again. Allowed him to seduce her again.
He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have done it. But he
couldn’t resist. Not when she was near and willing. And the magic of the lamp
was working away on him, eroding his resistance.
He made love to her on the pillows surrounding the banquet
table. And then he made love to her on the banquet table. He made love to her
until they were both exhausted. She, too exhausted to think of any more
ridiculous, annoying questions. He, too exhausted to contemplate the fate
awaiting him should he allow himself to fall in love. Again.
It was, in all likelihood, inevitable. If nothing else, the
past two thousand years had taught him that.
There was only one answer. Only one way to escape that doom.
He had to ask—demand—that Duvalli release her from the incantation.
And refuse to take no for an answer.
Chapter Eight
Keeshan stepped out of the mist into a cold, dark chamber.
Flaming urns on either side of the great hall cast the only light, along with
ominous, flickering shadows. But he knew there was nothing much to see. The
Dark Djinn’s audience chamber was a tomb, inaccessible except through magical
means.
And the devil who reigned here lounged, in all his
malevolent glory, on the throne, flanked by his two slavering hellhounds. He
was a large man, made larger by the import of his sortilege. His dark-hooded
cloak only added to his ominous appearance. His features had changed little
over the years but his dark eyes were harder, colder and glittered with
familiar malice. His nose was a proud, bold slash. An elegant tangle of magical
tattoos swirled over one side of his visage.
The Dark Djinn had been a powerful man two thousand years
ago. Keeshan could only imagine how strong his magic was now, after centuries
of ceaseless study and practice.
He had tried and failed to thwart the spell that bound him.
It became stronger with every attempt.
Duvalli glanced up as he sensed the disturbance, this
emergence of familiar energy. His gaze lit on Keeshan and a smirk tugged at one
side of his stark mouth. “So. A new dove has come. Has it been a hundred years
already? My how time flies.” Keeshan growled in response and Duvalli chuckled.
“What’s wrong, Sir Keeshan?” He used the appellation Keeshan hated, one
that reminded him of the man he’d once been. The knight he’d once been. And
never would be again. It was the Dark Djinn’s way of mocking what he had
become. “Is she not a beauty? Did the lamp finally bring you an ugly woman?”
“She is beautiful. They all are.”
“They are all beautiful to you .” The amusement melted
away. Keeshan knew he was thinking of his sister. Duvalli never forgot about
Circe. Then again, neither did Keeshan.
How he hated these audiences. Even though he could visit
Duvalli’s demesnes whenever he wished—and he never wished—he was only called into
the Dark Djinn’s presence
There had to be something he could do. Something he could
try.
If only he did not have the option of the damn incantation,
that tiny little spell that could force her into his arms. The gods knew he
didn’t have the strength to resist the temptation. But if she could, if she could walk away, if she could remain distant. Maybe that would make life
bearable when she finally left.
How he could manage that, he had no clue.
But Duvalli would know.
Keeshan stilled at the thought. The Dark Djinn could remove the
temptation. Duvalli could release her from the power of the incantation. A
flicker of hope kindled in his heart and then died.
Duvalli could. But would he?
“Are you hungry?” he asked and was relieved when her
expression shifted.
She put a hand on her belly. “I am.”
Yes, he was relieved when she allowed him to distract her,
to lead her back to the banquet hall and tempt her with a dizzying array of
delights.
He was especially relieved when she forgot all her questions
and allowed him to kiss her again. Allowed him to seduce her again.
He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have done it. But he
couldn’t resist. Not when she was near and willing. And the magic of the lamp
was working away on him, eroding his resistance.
He made love to her on the pillows surrounding the banquet
table. And then he made love to her on the banquet table. He made love to her
until they were both exhausted. She, too exhausted to think of any more
ridiculous, annoying questions. He, too exhausted to contemplate the fate
awaiting him should he allow himself to fall in love. Again.
It was, in all likelihood, inevitable. If nothing else, the
past two thousand years had taught him that.
There was only one answer. Only one way to escape that doom.
He had to ask—demand—that Duvalli release her from the incantation.
And refuse to take no for an answer.
Chapter Eight
Keeshan stepped out of the mist into a cold, dark chamber.
Flaming urns on either side of the great hall cast the only light, along with
ominous, flickering shadows. But he knew there was nothing much to see. The
Dark Djinn’s audience chamber was a tomb, inaccessible except through magical
means.
And the devil who reigned here lounged, in all his
malevolent glory, on the throne, flanked by his two slavering hellhounds. He
was a large man, made larger by the import of his sortilege. His dark-hooded
cloak only added to his ominous appearance. His features had changed little
over the years but his dark eyes were harder, colder and glittered with
familiar malice. His nose was a proud, bold slash. An elegant tangle of magical
tattoos swirled over one side of his visage.
The Dark Djinn had been a powerful man two thousand years
ago. Keeshan could only imagine how strong his magic was now, after centuries
of ceaseless study and practice.
He had tried and failed to thwart the spell that bound him.
It became stronger with every attempt.
Duvalli glanced up as he sensed the disturbance, this
emergence of familiar energy. His gaze lit on Keeshan and a smirk tugged at one
side of his stark mouth. “So. A new dove has come. Has it been a hundred years
already? My how time flies.” Keeshan growled in response and Duvalli chuckled.
“What’s wrong, Sir Keeshan?” He used the appellation Keeshan hated, one
that reminded him of the man he’d once been. The knight he’d once been. And
never would be again. It was the Dark Djinn’s way of mocking what he had
become. “Is she not a beauty? Did the lamp finally bring you an ugly woman?”
“She is beautiful. They all are.”
“They are all beautiful to you .” The amusement melted
away. Keeshan knew he was thinking of his sister. Duvalli never forgot about
Circe. Then again, neither did Keeshan.
How he hated these audiences. Even though he could visit
Duvalli’s demesnes whenever he wished—and he never wished—he was only called into
the Dark Djinn’s presence
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